


The Ghost Who Lived

by Weeping_Assbutt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weeping_Assbutt/pseuds/Weeping_Assbutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are called in to help a friend in London with a ghost? problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost Who Lived

London. They were in London. Dean never expected to leave America, but one of Sam’s old friends demanded they fly out there immediately. Hey, at least they didn't have to pay for the private jet. Yes, you heard it right here folks. The Dean Winchester flying in a private jet. What was the guy’s name? Sam’s friend. Myron. No, that didn't seem right. Merlin. That seemed closer but still not right.   
There was a picture of the owner of the jet near the cockpit. The man was balding slightly. He was dressed in an obviously expensive suit and held himself like he was important. Hell, if he had his own private jet he probably was important. Dean got up and walked over to the picture. Mycroft Holmes. That’s why he couldn't remember. It was such an odd name. Mycroft. What is a Mycroft. It sounded like someone choking. To each his own, Dean supposed.   
Overhead the pilot's voice came through the speakers. “We will be landing in five minutes. Put on your seat belts and expect a small amount of turbulence.” Dean heaved a sigh. Planes. He was not a fan of planes. Especially when they hit turbulence. He began humming Metallica. The greatest lullaby.  
When they finally landed Dean let out one of the greatest sighs of relief ever. although slightly green in the face, he felt accomplished. He had flown in a plane without dying. He looked over at Sam who was laughing his head off. “Shut up, Sammy,” Dean yelled to his younger brother. He would get him for this.   
Dean glanced up for the first time and noticed a giant entourage heading towards him. Everyone in the whole group looked super pissed and wore fancy suits. If they were going to get arrested within the first five minutes of being in London he was going to shoot Sam.   
“Winchester,” a voice from the middle of the group said, then quieter,”Move you big oafs. I’m not in any danger.”   
The man from the picture on the plane, Mycroft, now stood before Dean and Sam. He reached over to Sam and patted him on the shoulder. “Good to see you, old friend. I wish it were on better circumstances.”   
Dean cleared his throat. Mycroft looked over at the older Winchester with a look of displeasure on his face. “I see you brought your oaf, too.”   
Dean clenched his jaw. Never had he experienced hate at first sight, but this guy, Dean just wanted to punch him. Sam must of caught on to Dean’s feelings.   
“Mycroft, always such a joker. This is my brother, Dean.” Sam gestured toward Dean, then took on a more serious tone, “ What can you tell us about your problem?”  
“Hmm, yes, well… About four years ago my brother, Sherlock, was on the roof of St. Bart’s Hospital. Standing on the ledge ready to jump…”  
Dean cut him off, “... And now you are haunted by your brother. Come on, Sammy. We've got bones to burn.”  
Mycroft and Sam scowled at Dean. “Uh, no my pigheaded acquaintance. My brother was on the roof with his archenemy, James Moriarty. Mr. Moriarty had guns trained on the people that Sherlock loves. Given, that is a small number but nonetheless my brother needed to save them. Only Sherlock’s death or Moriarty’s word could stop the attacks. Sherlock was going to convince Moriarty to call them off, then Moriarty took his own life. Now, how does Sherlock save every person he ever loved?” Mycroft pauses, as if waiting for an answer, then continues. “He faked his death. I won’t go into details, but all that matters is that Moriarty died. Yet, my brother and his… flatmate keep seeing him. Along with other people included in Sherlock’s fake demise. Here is a list of people that have spotted his ghost. Mycroft handed it to Sam.  
Sam studied the note. Before he could say anything Mycroft said, “By the way, my brother would like to assist you in the investigation. Don’t try to sway him, he will not relent. He will be working this case with you. His name and address are first on the list. Now, all this talk has made me hungry. I’m off for fish and chips. Sam, if you need anything you have my cell.” With that Mycroft left the room.   
The brothers got into their rental car and drove over to 221B. Dean knocked on the door three times. A short man with a slight limp answered the door.  
“Sherlock?” Sam asked, “We were sent by Mycroft?”   
The man in the doorway laughed. “I’m not Sherlock, I’m John Watson, Sherlock’s flatmate. Sherlock is upstairs and I doubt he’s going to come down, so we will go up.” John led the way up to the flat.   
Dean was shocked when they reached the flat. There were various body parts littered throughout the room. Including, but not limited to, eyeballs in a jar, a skull by the fireplace, and what appeared to be human hair. On the wall in bright yellow paint was a smiley face. What the face had to be smiling about, Dean had no idea. The smiley face had obviously been through rough times. There were multiple bullet holes, along with a number of other marks. What kind of madman is this guy, Dean thought to himself.   
It didn't take him long to figure out the answer to that question. A tall man sauntered into the room. The man’s gaze fell on John with a disappointed glare, then travelled to the two brothers. “Mycroft sent you. Sam and Dean Winchester. Obviously from America, just travelled on a plane. Probably Mycroft’s private jet due to the scent of you. That one,” he pointed to Dean,”was queasy the whole way over here due to the way color has not returned to his face. Both show signs of great loss the way they carry themselves, family, probably parents. Dean is an alcoholic in denial, his eyes are searching the room right now for our liquor cabinet.” Sherlock paused.  
“And Sam, The slight shake in your hands shows a recovering addict, something strong like meth. The slight droop in your shoulders shows that you were recently injured. Something internal, but you are mostly healed now. The way you glance around the room shows that you’re nervous. You’re anticipating something bad to happen. Your jacket is a piece of memorabilia, probably from a dead relative.”   
“Brilliant,” John commented. Sherlock shot him a glare, but Dean could tell that Sherlock relished John’s praise.  
“I’m not an alcoholic,” Dean stated, “I just appreciate the fine things in life.”   
Sam let out a chuckle. “You are quite brilliant. Most things you said were correct.”  
“Mostly correct? How can I be mostly correct. You two are an open book and I just read your story to everyone.  
“You got Dean pretty spot on, but not me. Demon blood. That’s what I was addicted to, not Meth.”  
“How was I supposed to know that was an option. Demon blood? Who goes and gets themselves addicted to Demon blood? John, these people are surely crazy. Please escort them to the door.”  
John looked at his flatmate and let out a small chuckle. Sherlock hated being wrong. “Sherlock, these guys are here to help you with the problem. You've been working on this for months with no clue what’s going on. These guys are experts in the area.”  
“Mycroft,” Sherlock huffed, “Always meddling in my business. Well, I suppose since you are here you can assist me.”   
Sherlock stormed off to his room. John watched him and smiled. Dean just shook his head. What had they gotten themselves into?


End file.
